A/N: My post-Chuck finale fic. My own personal closure of the show's end. Thank you for the wonderful five years of joy you've brought me, Chuck. The little show that could, did. I couldn't be a prouder fan of this series. I'm not a great writer, but I hope that this lives up to the high bar that is Chuck. I loved the ending.

To the legacy that is: Chuck Bartowski - nerd extraordinaire, Sarah Walker - the most kick-ass spy alive, John Casey - the bad-ass, grunting sugar-bear, Morgan Grimes - the coolest side-kick and best friend anyone could ever ask for, The Woodcombs - excellent and completely awesome folk, Jeffster - the greatest cover band alive. Thank you.

Disclaimer: Un-beta-ed, un-edited, so I'm anticipating a lot of glaring mistakes (I'm sorry, it's almost 2am and my eyes are half-closed), very short, and I still do not own Chuck.


"Well, this seems strangely familiar," he muttered softly as he settled into one of the three high-chairs lined against their kitchen's marble counter, a soft smile stretching his lips as he studied her curiously. He combed a hand through his unruly, early-morning hair, ruffling it slightly; tugging and scratching at his pyjamas with an irritated huff.

He stared at her, grinning like a child, as she shot him an amused smirk, eyes narrowing playfully as she skilfully flipped the contents of the frying pan into a plate.

She looked radiant in stray sunlight filtering through the curtains in their kitchen – comfortable in the large, open space; relaxed even. God knows how long it had taken her to relax around him. He could still remember the nervous, electric tension that had filled the air whenever they were in the same room together. Just like old times. She looked beautiful, even with her face stripped of make-up and her hair still mussed from sleep.

Sarah.

His Sarah.

The woman who'd chosen to trust him – to stay by his side – when she had the world at her doorstep, memories lost, love buried somewhere inside the heart she hadn't understood yet. He'd seen it in her eyes; her expression, on occasion, as though she hadn't quite been able to comprehend the overwhelming feelings coursing through her body. She hadn't been able to shoot him when the situation demanded it. That had given him the chance to convince her to stay, all those years ago.

"It's supposed to be familiar," she replied, glancing shyly at him from beneath her lashes as she placed the omelette before him. She leaned over the counter to press her lips against his – soft and tender, a greeting of a good morning. He felt her smile against his lips, her hands framing his face, palms kissing his cheeks. "I remembered it this morning."

"Yeah?" he said joyfully, his face splitting into a beaming grin that shot straight through her heart. "That makes –"

She nudged her nose against his, smoothing her thumb against the creases beside his eyes, whispered against his lips, "Six."

"–in the past two months?"

At her delighted nod, he pushed the omelette to the side, deftly winding his hand around her wrist and pulling her over to his side from around the counter. Her breathless laughter and subsequent, "Chuck!" were all he received in protest as she fell into his lap, curling into him as he tucked his face into her neck, taking her very presence in – his wife, alive and shaking with silent mirth, warm and pliant against him. Her memories had been coming steadily back to her, albeit slowly, and the past three years had been a challenge on both of them.

"Tell me, Sarah," he whispered into her ear, delighting in the shiver that ran surreptitiously down her spine as his breath tickled the smooth skin of her neck. He held her flush against him, spanning his fingers across her back, holding her against him with a light pressure. Her fingers weaved themselves through his hair, playing with the dark strands at his nape unconsciously.

"We were undercover, investigating FULCRUM's involvement in the disappearance of one of our own. We were supposed to be a married couple – Casey had a field day teasing us about it. We slept in the same bed, but we weren't together then, and God, I could feel it between us, even in my head. Whatever it was then. How did we even make it three years without jumping each other? Anyway, I made you breakfast the next morning, just for you, and you teased me about being a real girl," she whispered, voice low and humming with each word, cheek brushing against his.

He chuffed a laugh into her ear, fondly pressing a peck to her ear as the memory surfaced fully in his mind. "Well, you did go all Martha Stewart on me after we got married the first time."

"Shush. Let me finish," she chided playfully, raking her hand through his hair, the short hair spiky and so unlike the curly head of hair she'd seen in her head. Animal shapes. They'd made animal shapes. Ellie had said that, years ago.

"Just sayin'..."

"We got captured by the FULCRUM agents, and they strapped you to a chair, made you upload their version of the Intersect. I – I thought you'd been wiped clean." Pausing, she slapped a hand against his back, hard.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I thought it killed you, you bastard. And that's for all the times you never stayed in the car."

He grinned, pressing his face into her blonde, luscious curls, tightening his hold around her. "The downside of remembering, I guess. You'll remember all of my goof-ups too."

He felt her stiffen beneath his palms, muscles coiled and taut, and he pulled back slightly to study her face and the sudden shadows that had so suddenly engulfed her mood.

"Hey, Sarah, look at me." He gently prodded her chin with a finger, faltering when her head did not budge in the slightest. "Would you please look at me?"

Her blue eyes – those striking, sharp, blue eyes – stared defiantly into his as he smiled at her.

"I'm sorry, I – that was a stupid thing to say. There isn't a downside to all of this. I'm not waiting for the old Sarah to resurface, or the new Sarah to disappear. I love you – I love all of you, present and past, because as much as I'd love for you to regain our memories, I want us to make new ones."

He's a hundred percent positive that she feels his heart hammering against her chest as much as his ribcage, hoping earnestly that she can feel his love spilling over into her heart. He loves her, overwhelmingly, sickeningly; it's devastating and it's beautiful at the same time and it's all for her.

"And we've already made some pretty great new ones, right?"

"The night we made love for the second-first time, the day you proposed to me with breakfast in bed, when we kissed for the second-first time – not in front of a bomb but on the beach where you asked me to trust you, told me our story. The magic kiss that didn't work but brought on some pretty overpowering feelings," she murmured in rapid succession, pausing only to breathe. "When I moved in with you right after that not-so-magical kiss, when you made me laugh every single morning after that with a corny joke and your general inner-nerd. When I fell in love with you all over again. I love that. I love that so much, Chuck. I love you."

She pulled back from him, swipes at her eyes with a sly grin to match his, places his palms over her belly and her hands over his. Then she pressed a fierce kiss to his lips, quick and dirty, her tongue brushing swiftly across his parted lips, finally pulling away with a pant after a few moments.

"And when we found out about our baby, Chuck. I wouldn't trade that for any of my old memories."

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'til I reach you.